"We stood up for what was right. We fought for moral reasons. We passed laws, struck down laws for moral reasons." (Daniels) This quote, from The Newsroom's character "Will McAvoy", describes a gentler era in the history of the United States. It harkens back to a time when "men acted like men" and morals were the justification for wars, not a need for power.
The death penalty is the highest punishment our society can conceive of. The ending of a single person's life is not something the United States takes lightly. Once it has been completed, there are no second chances. So the question at hand is this: Is the death penalty an acceptable form of punishment?
Cherish what you have when you have it; remember what you’ve lost when it’s gone. Be brave, and never let a moment pass by when something unsaid may need to be said. Carry forth with grace and dignity and keep in light an assurance that you are doing what is in your heart.
Never tarry from the steps that your heart lays out for you; if you get lost, take a moment and remember who you are, and where you’ve come from. If your history is murky, take up a pen and write a new beginning for yourself.
You should be thankful that you have the chance to pen your own destiny and walk forward in a path that you choose. Never take a moment for granted with your loved ones, for life is but a fleeting moment in the halls of giants.
My sister said something about wanting a way to limit her husband's nephew's time on the computer.
I came up with this little guy.
Code after the break.
“She’s really hard to look at, isn’t she?”
My aunt Glenda walked into the garage where I was crying. I sniffled and tried to take a deep breath to dry my eyes without letting her see them. I reminded myself that real men didn’t cry.
With a deep sigh and another sob, I nodded and felt the hot sting of tears as more splashed down my face. I was so mad at myself, having left my great grandmother in her bedroom when I was there to see her.
This was the first big death in my life, and there I was, watching everything, helpless even to control my emotions. I went back into the house, running my wrist under my nose and then wiping the snot onto my jeans. If my grandmother had seen me do that, she’d have tanned my hide.
It seems like Death’s favorite time to visit is on bright sunny days.
Just months before I’d seen my Great Grandmother, and to me she had seemed like she always was. A little old, but my favorite person in the whole world – the one that made me feel safe and loved. I spent a few days with her, and even avoided going out to dinner one night with everyone else so I could stay at my aunt’s house and be with her.
That night was one of the scariest nights of my life. Grandma Jones, (that’s what I always called her) had Alzheimer’s disease. To me, at that age, it just meant that she had a bad memory. I took it as a point of pride that I was the one person she never forgot. I was her favorite person in the whole world, and that was the most wonderful thing I could imagine. Maybe my family did their best to help hide her illness from me, or maybe I just didn’t notice the more disheartening aspects.
I remember sitting across from Grandma Jones, watching the TV, when she stopped what she was doing and stared at the corner.
My name is James, and she was the only one I would ever allow to call me Jim. I thought she was talking to me at first, but quickly found out she was talking to someone else. She stared at the corner and had a conversation with someone that I couldn’t see.
My imagination ran wild, thinking that she was talking to a ghost or someone that I couldn’t see. I tried to snap her out of it, tried hard to get her to answer me, but she ignored me and just kept talking to “Jim”.
After a few minutes she stopped and then we went to bed, but I was still very scared. I remember telling Glenda about it the next morning and her just nodding and not saying much – not even an explanation.
The only other time something like that happened, I was at my Uncle Bert’s house. His wife Shirley, her mother Jules, my aunt Sherry, my Uncle Bert, and Grandma Jones were sitting in the living room. I was playing Monopoly with Grandma Jones when Sherry decided to go buy some sodas.
“No Brian, give her your money if you want something from the store.”
My Grandmother had briefly lapsed into a memory of someone else as a child, who had been planning to get something from the store. This was very brief, though, and it passed after a few seconds, and I didn’t think anything of it until years later, when trying to remember everything that I could about her. That was the only time I was aware of that she forgot who I was.
It felt like a little piece of my world had been torn away; I was no longer the person she couldn’t forget. Luckily the mind and spirit of a young child cannot be held down and I quickly put the memory behind me.
My entire life I was told, and still am, that I saved my Grandma Jones’ life. That before I was born, she was getting ill, and that she had basically given up on living. Until I came along, and apparently it was like seeing the light come back into a room for her.
That made it even harder when, just hours before she passed away, I couldn’t even look at her because it hurt so deep in my chest I thought I wouldn’t be able to breathe.
I think my family was trying to be kind; they knew I loved my grandmother very much, and that she loved me very much as well. I think, when my mother came out of her room and gave me a hug, she meant to make me feel better – to remind me that I was Grandma Jones’ favorite.
“She said your name.”
It hurt too bad to try and go back in her room; I knew I wouldn’t be able to look at her again, and see her blue eyes clouded over with a gray film, her mouth a twisted, thin gash of pain as she writhed in her sheets. I knew, I knew, I just KNEW I would never be able to see her alive again… and then I was told she called my name when I ran away from her?
I lost it. I was done. That was it. The tears came pouring out and they just wouldn’t stop. When she needed me the most, all I could do is hug her, say, “I love you,” and then run away before she could say my name.
It was the last thing she ever said to anyone.